


a race with two winners

by retropeachyy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Hinata Shouyou is Sunshine, Kageyama Tobio in Love, Long-Distance Relationship, Lovesickness, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mutual Pining, Partners to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Volleyball Dorks in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retropeachyy/pseuds/retropeachyy
Summary: To know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who stares up at the same sky, who watches the same phases of the moon and draws constellations using the same stars; to know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who sees your face in their dreams, who longs to hear your voice; to know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who is reminded of you in songs, in books, in movies, in paintings; to know that there is a whole wide world out there, and with it, there is someone out there who loves you unconditionally.In which two dorks compete to see who can marry the other first.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	a race with two winners

**Author's Note:**

> i've had this headcannon swimming around in my mind for months now and it has finally come to life.

“Yknow, I really like Brazil, but I miss meat buns more than anything in this world. I could go for a meat bun right now, maybe even the shitty ones.” Shoyo spun around in his desk chair, dizzying himself with the momentum and the thought of going back home and experiencing all of the things he’d once taken for granted. He really did love Brazil, but he felt like an uprooted tree most of the time.

“Man, I haven’t had a good meat bun in a while.” Tobio’s voice sounded staticy and robotic over the phone. They didn’t get to call often, as the phone bills for a transcontinental call were fucking astounding. Shoyo just wished he could hear Tobio’s voice in the way it was meant to be heard; tickling the shell of his ear and gently ruffling the small, curling hairs near his temple.

“Don’t you and the Alders go out to eat together? Ah, I bet you all go to some fancy-schmancy places, don’t you?”

“Only if we win a match.”

“You win every single match!” Shoyo whined into the phone. “Next time, eat a few meat buns for me! I’ll be there in spirit!”

Tobio chuckled into the phone. It was less of a laugh and more of a huff, but Shoyo could see the smirk playing on his lips as if it was happening right in front of him. “I’ll dedicate it to you, don’t worry.”

The next few beats played out in a comfortable silence, where just their breathing could be heard over the line. It wasn’t the same as being next to each other, curled in each other’s arms, limbs tangled in each other and souls intertwined. Of course it wasn’t like that, but it was better than being completely alone. Shoyo could pretend, just for a moment, that he could feel the warm puffs of breath on his neck, and he shivered from the imaginary sensation.

“I love it in Brazil, I do. I just want to come home,” he admitted. He’d been scared to admit it for a long time, fearing that admitting his homesickness would make him weak, would mean that he would never be capable of becoming stronger. What he realized now, was that home was something that made him stronger. Admitting to miss it didn’t make him weak, rather, it made him want to work harder to return to it.

As if Tobio could read his mind, which it truly felt like he could, he said exactly what Shoyo needed to hear. “Home will be waiting for you when you get back.” And Shoyo believed him.

☼

“Trust me, you won’t even stand a chance when I get back.” Shoyo shut the door to his apartment, kicking off his sandals, careful to not track sand too far past the entryway. “Playing on a court is one thing, but I’m pretty sure the sand wants to eat me alive.”

“Oh so cocky, I see,” Tobio teased. “I think you forget I’ve been playing professional for months now. Ushiwaka’s gonna be standing across the court from you.”

“Ha! And I beat him before!” Shoyo wasn’t one to get offended by Tobio’s teasing. Not anymore, at least. He honestly found it endearing that Tobio wanted to rile him up so badly. Besides, he’d taken down Ushiwaka before, and he’d only be ready to do it again.

“You haven’t beaten me before,” Shoyo pointed out, the competition back in Tobio’s face.

“You haven’t beaten me either.” Shoyo could damn near hear the smirk that was sure to be making itself known over Tobio’s features.

“Technically I have, back in that middle school game.”

“Psh! That barely counts, you and I weren’t even rivals then.” Shoyo thinks back on that game, back to the conversation they’d had outside the bathroom more fondly than he’d ever let Tobio know. He’d known right then and there that Tobio was his life’s mission, one way or another.

“Are we rivals now?” Tobio asks in a teasing voice, but even though the phone, Shoyo can hear the hint of nerves seeping into his words. He sighs as he settles into the couch, sitting for the first time after hours of beach play.

“‘Course we are. On the court only though.”

“What’s the fun in that! We should be rivals all the time.” Tobio didn’t whine often, so each time that he did, Shoyo savored the moment as if it was his favorite flavor. He could damn near feel his cheeks split with how hard he was smiling.

“All the time? How can we be rivals all the time?” Shoyo was intrigued, to say the least.

“Yknow, sorta like how we used to do back at Karasuno. Who can finish laps the fastest, who can clean the court quicker, who can eat more meat buns. Stuff like that.”

“I’m in Brazil, knuckle-head. How do you expect us to do that stuff?”

“I didn’t mean we have to do that stuff literally, dumbass.” 

“Then what do you mean?”

“Okay, like this. Next time we call, we can skype to see who makes the better meal.” 

“You piece of shit, you know I can’t cook!” Shoyo whined at the unfairness of Tobio’s proposition, yet the fire of competition was alight in his veins. Any chance to beat Tobio was a chance he was going to take. 

“I’ll let you pick the recipe, out of the kindness of my heart.”

“Dumbass.” 

☼

Shoyo was a terrible cook, and it was not fair that he got distracted taking rouge looks at his boyfriend. His computer sat atop the counter, the keyboard getting coated in fresh coats of flour with each pass of the mixing bowl. Shoyo desperately tried to keep his attention trained to the chaos of the kitchen, but his eyes kept darting back to Tobio on-screen.

Because they lived worlds away, they didn’t hardly ever have aligned schedules to be able to talk face to face. When Shoyo was getting home from practice, Tobio was on his way. When Shoyo woke up in the mornings, Tobio was at a match. Today was one of those rare, once in a lifetime days where they could bask in each other’s presence, where they could take in each other’s faces and create new memories.

Of course, Shoyo wasn’t basking in shit because he was trying to craft a more aesthetic looking coconut cake than his masterchef boyfriend.

He’d made it very clear that they needed to use the exact same recipe and that they needed to start at the exact same time. He didn’t want to give Tobio a leg up in any way and was quite thorough in his directions for the competition. He could barely keep a straight face explaining them, though, as finally being in competition with Tobio felt like coming home.

Of course, the recipe wasn’t hard by any means, but Shoyo felt like he was scrambling around the kitchen. He was losing track of how long he’d been mixing the batter, if the oven was preheated to the right temperature, and- hey, did he accidentally put three cups of flour instead of two?

“You look panicked,” Tobio noted, too cocky for his own good.

“I’m doing just fine, thank you for your concern.” Shoyo wished he didn’t sound so breathless.

“I’m almost done with the first part, are you?”

“This isn’t a race, jackass.” 

“I know, I know. It’s a beauty pageant.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Shoyo heard Tobio actually giggle on the other line, and damn near dropped the mixing bowl entirely. 

“Hey, don’t you usually watch those cooking videos when you can’t sleep?” Shoyo felt his heartbeat just a little harder in his chest and the question. Even though he and Tobio knew each other like the back of their hands, it was still so endearing that Tobio knew tiny, miniscule things about him. It was as if Shoyo was a painting, and Tobio had taken the time to analyze each stroke of the brush.

“Yeah, sometimes. I like the ones where they frost sugar cookies.” Shoyo always found it alluring how the chefs could make such clean lines on such an unpredictable surface.

“I couldn’t sleep the other night and so I tried watching one.” Shoyo’s heart fluttered. “It was cupcake decorating. I couldn’t sleep because I got hungry.”

“Too bad you weren’t here with me. I woulda made you something. Y'know, since I’m a masterchef and all.” Shoyo’s grin splits his face wide open as he hears Tobio’s telltale huff-laugh.

Surprisingly enough, the pair decided that Shoyo’s cake was more aesthetic looking. Not surprisingly, they both agree that Tobio’s probably tasted better. Shoyo wishes they could just be together so that he wouldn’t have to stare at his damn computer screen- so that he didn’t have to stare at his pixels for a boyfriend as they ate their cake in their own separate universes.

☼

“It’s cold outside,” Tobio noted one evening. He was curled up underneath his usual blankets, but he’d added two extra just for good measure.

“Well, it is winter in Japan,” Shoyo pointed out sarcastically. Tobio feels his lip curl in a smile, despite himself. “You should come to Rio. It’s nice and warm here.”

“It’s always warm in Rio.” Tobio snuggled deeper into his blankets, desperately aching for a warmth that isn’t in them. “Besides, I don’t exactly have time for travel right now.”

“Is your training still going okay?” 

“Of course it is. It gets better everyday.”

“Are you still okay?” Sometimes Tobio wished Shoyo couldn’t read him so well. He was still getting used to the whole “emotionally intimate” thing, and while Shoyo was doing a perfect job at handling him and his turmoil, he still felt like he was shitting on Shoyo’s sunshine every time he opened up.

“It’s cold,” is all Tobio can muster.

“I left you one of my sweatshirts, do you still have it?” 

“I do,” Tobio said, gratefully. What he doesn’t say is that it’s been sitting untouched in his dresser for months. He’s been too afraid to wear it, to even expose it to the natural scent of himself in fear that the final remnants of Shoyo will leave him. That all-encapsulating smell of cinnamon and sunshine will finally evade him, and he’ll forget it the way his body slowly forgets how it felt to hold the sun in the palm of his hand.

“Well why aren’t you wearing it?” 

“I’m too cold to get up.” It’s not a complete lie, but Tobio would rather freeze to death than admit the truth to why he won’t wear it. 

“You’re gonna stay cold if you don’t put it on,” Shoyo argued. Tobio groaned, knowing Shoyo was right. He shuffled slowly over to the other side of his bed and reached an arm out from the safety of the blankets. He fumbled lazily for the third dresser down, where, without fail, Shoyo’s grey sweatshirt would be sitting, pristine and untouched. Tobio’s fingers grazed the plush fabric, and it took everything in him not to whimper directly into the phone. 

He missed the feeling of soft, plush material over Shoyo’s body. He missed laying on Shoyo’s chest, smelling the cinnamon and sunshine, feeling the love radiating directly from his chest, and the feeling of Shoyo’s fingers playing easily through his hair. He missed the way Shoyo would hum as they watched a game, the way his head rose and fell with Shoyo’s breathing, the way Tobio would slip his fingers beneath the fabric of his shirt just to feel the closeness, the warmth of Shoyo’s skin on his own. 

The sweatshirt was something, but it wasn’t his Shoyo.

“I put it on,” Tobio mumbled, pulling himself back from the edge. He was absolutely not going to cry on the phone. Not at all.

“Better?” Shoyo’s voice sounded so hopeful, so bright.

“Better.” It really was better. It wasn’t Shoyo, but it was enough to get him through the night.

☼

“This doesn’t seem fair,” Shoyo complained. His figure was pixelated, but the frown on his face was as clear as day. He stood over the counter in his kitchen, hands holding on to the counter, and Tobio knew by the stance that he was definitely chewing on his lip in thought. 

“Why not?”

“Because you’re training in a professional facility and I’m not.”

They’d been challenging one another to meaningless competition for weeks now, and the score was tied even. It was Tobio’s turn to choose an event, and he had decided on the most obvious choice: fitness. It would be a competition of raw statistics- who can run a faster mile, who can bench the most weight, who can do the hardest sleds. It was juvenile, admittedly, but they were both athletes, and it was the easiest thing to compare with the distance between them.

“That doesn’t matter at all,” Tobio argued. “We used to do that stuff all the time in high school.” Tobio could easily sense Shoyo’s apprehension; it was written on his face as clear as day. “Unless you don’t think you could beat me?”

Sure enough, Shoyo’s eyes sparkled despite his constraints. Competition never failed to ignite the fire in his veins; Tobio knew that best.

“How do I know you won’t cheat?” Shoyo asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. Tobio bit back a grin so wide it would have split his face clean in two.

“Because I’m not worried I’ll lose to you,” he retorted with a bite. Shoyo laughed, hanging his head in defeat.

“Fine, fine. But just so we’re clear, I’m not worried about losing to you either.”

“Maybe you should be.” Tobio was so glad they’d decided to skype that morning, otherwise he never would have been able to see the fire burning in Shoyo’s eyes and the smile that accompanied his favorite laugh in the world.

They decided that the fairest way to conduct the trials was to vlog themselves doing each task in order to prove that they weren’t fabricating the results. They weren’t honestly concerned that the other would do that, though, as they both genuinely shared the desire to have an honest win. Even Tobio had to admit that the thought of athletically competing against Shoyo again sparked something within him- something he hadn’t felt since his third year.

That day, Tobio broke the vast majority of his personal records. It was as if the very concept of Shoyo forced his body to produce that much more adrenaline, pushed him past his own limits, and yet, kept him more alert than ever. He barely even felt the sting of his muscles by the end of the circuit, not over the flutter of excitement in his stomach at seeing which of the two was statistically the better athlete.

A few nights had passed before they could call again, a video chat no less. Shoyo insisted on seeing Tobio’s face when he beat him. Tobio agreed to the call, more just to see Shoyo’s face regardless of a victory or loss.

“How confident are you in your stats?” Shoyo asked teasingly, wiggling in his chair like a hyperactive dog.

“Very.”

“Ooooh, you’re sooo cool, you don’t even need to use words!” Shoyo’s voice heightened in pitch as he mocked Tobio’s suave response. Tobio caught himself smiling fondly at the screen.

“You go first, since you’re so sure you’ll beat me.”

Tobio should have just clamped his mouth shut. He probably should have guessed that a fitness competition wouldn’t work out in his favor. It didn’t matter how many personal records he smashed; he failed to account for Shoyo’s freak physical prowess. They’d come to a tie, with Shoyo winning in the mile and squats, and Tobio winning in the benchpress and sleds. Even so, they rivaled each other closely in their stats, each only a few seconds or pounds difference from the other.

“Ha! Told you you wouldn’t beat me!” Shoyo’s fist pumped the air with glee.

“You didn’t beat me either, though,” Tobio pointed out. He wasn’t even mad that he couldn’t secure the victory. He was constantly being impressed by Shoyo, always being reminded how resilient and strong his partner could be.

Seeing Shoyo’s bright smile and unwavering pride made Tobio’s heart swell to the point of breaking in his chest. There was nothing quite like watching the sun itself smile down on you as if you were the reason for its shine.

He wanted to bask in that light forever.

☼

“I bought a ticket to Japan!” Shoyo’s heart was racing a million miles a minute when he broke the news. He was practically vibrating, his hands shaking in violent tremors as he yelled into the phone. He was finally going home, and he could barely contain his excitement at the mere prospect.

“Y-you’re what? When?”

“Next week! I’m gonna come home!” Shoyo realized he probably could have handled the announcement a bit more calmly so as to not send Tobio into cardiac arrest, but he was damn near about to descend into it himself.

“I have an away game next week. I’ll barely be around to be with you.” Tobio sounded guilty. Shoyo hated it.

“It’s fine! Whenever I get to see you, even if it's only for a little bit! It’ll be okay!” He knew it wouldn’t work to soothe Tobio’s nerves entirely, but the sigh on the other end of line told Shoyo everything he needed to know.

“Every moment I’m not on the court, I’m all yours.” Shoyo almost giggled at the way his chest bloomed at Tobio’s words. It was as if he was falling in love all over again, just like the giddy teenager he’d once been.

Tobio hadn’t lied when he’d said it, either.

The first four days of Shoyo’s arrival in Japan, Tobio was away playing a match. Tobio apologized over and over as if it was his fault that he was missing Shoyo. Shoyo assured him that it was fine; afterall, he’d planned the trip and should have checked Tobio’s schedule. Besides, he would be spending the much needed time with his mom and sister.

After those four days, though, Tobio made good on his promise and went as far as to take off from the Alders for three days, the remainder of Shoyo’s trip.

“You can’t do that!” Shoyo had exclaimed, protesting Tobio’s willingness to drop everything.

“I don’t know when the next time I’ll get to see you is,” he’d argued back. “I want all the time I can get.”

On day one, they’d stayed in Tobio’s apartment, not even bothering to go out to get food. They cuddled in damn near every position possible, holding each other as close as they could. It didn’t matter if they were talking, or if one of them had fallen asleep. As long as one could hear the other breathing, feel the beating of their heart, the warmth of their skin, there was nothing in the world to complain about.

On day two, they’d opted for an adventure. Tobio took Shoyo to his newfound favorite spots of Tokyo, even the raunchy touristy ones. Spring was descending on the city, cherry blossoms were in bloom, and the pair traversed the city as if it was theirs to behold. Shoyo thought Tobio’s eyes had gotten bluer since he’d left. 

On day three, they returned back to Tobio’s apartment, where they refused to let each other out of sight, even for a moment. Shoyo awoke in Tobio’s arms, his back pressed into his partner’s chest. He could feel Tobio’s heartbeat through his skin, a steady rhythm that kept him grounded in the now- in the realization of how little time they had left.

Tobio had made them breakfast, a simple, easy recipe that wouldn’t require much time away from Shoyo, who’s bedhead and sleepy eyes were a sight to behold. He’d missed the way Shoyo’s bright and unfiltered voice became raspy and muted with sleep. He’d missed the way Shoyo’s eyes would flutter up at him and carry the deepness of his affection within them.

They’d watched some old footage from their Karasuno days, bickering about who the better player was, pointing out old habits they once had as younger players. They reminisced about their former teammates, fondly recalling the “good ol’ days” and the lifelong memories they’d made. They recounted how they’d fallen in love that year, their first year ever truly knowing each other. How each fight and obstacle brought them closer together, despite their innate differences, to form a bond so pure and unmatched, as if it was made in heaven itself.

Tobio pressed his cheek into Shoyo’s chest, who immediately tightened his hold on him. He listened to the steady thrum of Shoyo’s heart, listened to the steady beat that seemed to call his name. Shoyo would do the same, curling up in Tobio’s lap, nestling his face into the crook of Tobio’s neck, inhaling the deep smell of detergent that always seemed to surround him. He planted light, but full of love kisses on his neck, his collarbone, his shoulders, his cheeks, jaw, and nose. He peppered every inch of Tobio in those kisses, making it known just how much he loved each and every part of him.

Tobio played with Shoyo’s fingers, fitting his own between them and drawing patterns into his skin. He kissed each callous, each fingertip, each freckle on his sun-kissed skin. He admired every part of Shoyo, even the way his pinky finger was slightly bent at the knuckle; even the way his nails were jagged and bitten. He loved Shoyo for all that he was and all that he’d ever been and all that he’d ever be. 

They showered together that night, not out of a sexual impulse, either. Rather, they did it for the sake of closeness, for the sake of being intimate without being sexual. For taking care of one another in their most vulnerable moments. Tobio’s fingers carefully massaged Shoyo’s scalp, working firmly but soothingly, forcing Shoyo’s eyes to flutter shut at the sensation. Shoyo washed Tobio’s back, lathering soap on his body and massaging it into his skin. He took his time working out the kinks in his shoulders, kneading the muscles under the hot water. Tobio was forever grateful for the way Shoyo took care of him.

Three days just wasn’t enough time to love the sun.

Shoyo was the last person to board his flight the next day and it was one hundred percent Tobio’s fault, but he just couldn’t bring himself to let go of the other man. How could he, though? How could he plainly accept that he would no longer feel the radiant joy of the sun as it smiled upon him in the dim light of the evening? How could he sit back and wait as the simmering heat beneath his skin faded with the memory of the sun’s fingertips grazing his cheek? How could he send the sun off with a smile, not knowing when they would next eclipse?

Shoyo wiped a stray tear off of Tobio’s face. The love simmered in his eyes so brightly that Tobio thought he just might get burnt.

“I win,” Shoyo chuckled, finally allowing his own tears to spill freely down the smooth planes of his face. They’d challenged each other not to cry during Shoyo’s visit, and that if someone did, it would be considered a loss. Tobio knew he was destined to lose.

“Stay,” Tobio begged, reeling from the absolute pathetic tone in which he used. He wasn’t above begging, though, especially not when it came to Shoyo.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Shoyo whispered, his words carrying over the air like a bittersweet melody.

“Home will be waiting for you when you get back,” Tobio returned. His voice cracked, fading into nothing but a whisper by the end. Shoyo smiled at him nonetheless.

“I love you,” Shoyo said. He said it often, habitually, but this time was different, and Tobio could see it in Shoyo’s whole being. He saw it in the way his hands gripped onto his own just a little bit tighter; how his head dipped down slightly as if to accentuate the meaning of the words; how his eyes widened and sparkled; how his lips curled into a smile of affection. They were words they shared often, but this time, they had an entirely different meaning- a promise behind them. A promise of return, a promise of a next time, a promise of a boundless love.

“I’m going to marry you someday.” The words are spoken with so much conviction, so much truth behind them that it makes everything else Tobio has ever said look like a lie. It is the rawest, most honest thing that has ever erupted from his mouth, and he felt the impact of the words settle in his gut. Shoyo looked up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching in his throat. Tobio knows how pathetic and desperate he must look, but he can’t bring himself to care, and it doesn’t look like Shoyo does either.

“Not if I marry you first,” Shoyo responded, his voice barely above a whisper. He exhaled sharply, as if he was letting go of a massive weight that he’d been holding on his shoulders. “God, I’ve wanted to say that forever.” He giggled at the absurdity of the confession, at the suddenness and publicity of it all.

“Why didn’t you?” Tobio asked, a stuttering breath following the question. He wiped a tear away from Shoyo’s cheek, letting his fingers graze the skin for just a moment too long, indulging in the feeling of contact.

“It didn’t feel fair,” Shoyo admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “I didn’t want to say that a while I was a million miles away.”

“But you’re going away again,” Tobio pointed out.

“Home will be waiting for me when I get back,” Shoyo said with a bittersweet smile. “I promise I won’t be long.”

“I’m going to marry you when you get back,” Tobio says, barely holding back another fit of sobs.

“Not if I marry you first.”

☼

There is something admittedly so intoxicating about knowing that there is someone on the other side of the world that loves you. It weights in your chest, in your stomach, in your head, as if it is some dirty little secret that no one else knows. It doesn’t matter if that person is rich, poor, famous, unpopular- anything really. It doesn’t matter one bit, because they are your person, and that makes them the best person of all.

There is something about walking around the city, holding your head high because it doesn’t matter if any of those perfect strangers like you or not. It doesn’t matter if they think you are smart, or pretty, or worth their time. You don’t need to be worth their time, you don’t need to meet their standards; because there is someone on the other side of the world who loves you.

To know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who stares up at the same sky, who watches the same phases of the moon and draws constellations using the same stars; to know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who sees your face in their dreams, who longs to hear your voice; to know that on the other side of the world, there is someone who is reminded of you in songs, in books, in movies, in paintings; to know that there is a whole wide world out there, and with it, there is someone out there who loves you unconditionally.

There is something quite painful about loving someone on the other side of the world, too. About knowing that when they see the sun, you see the moon, and only rarely will they get to eclipse; about knowing that they hate sleeping alone, but that they must because you can’t reach them; about knowing that on their toughest days, you cannot rub their back and pull them close and whisper sweet-nothings to them as they fall asleep. Despite your love for them, you can’t do this, because you are on the other side of the world.

It was painful, yes, but Tobio would go through that pain forever and a half if it was for Shoyo. He knew that Shoyo needed this time to grow, he needed the space to really find himself. Tobio was proud of him, and would root for him from a million miles away. Tobio would root for his greatest rival twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week. He, too, would try to be okay, focusing on his growth so that he could match up to Shoyo. Each practice, each training session, each and every small movement he made, he did it with Shoyo in mind. He did everything with the purpose of once again basking in the rays of the sun as it smiled upon him, saying, “I’m proud of you.”

It was painful, yes, but Shoyo needed something, anything to keep him moving forward. Staying in Japan wouldn’t have been the best path for him, despite all that he had to leave behind. He knew deep down that even despite the homesickness, the loneliness, the language barrier, this was the place that he belonged, this was the place that he would come into himself. He felt bad for leaving Tobio, but he knew that Tobio didn’t really need him. They were fully operational on their own, and they didn’t need to cling to one another for every little thing. Yet, Shoyo found himself wanting to come home each night to Tobio’s arms, letting them envelope him into an embrace so delicate, and yet so fortified, that he would feel safe. He would earn that feeling, yes, he would earn the affection of his missing piece. He would grow on his own, like a caterpillar in a cocoon, only to return to his lover, to return to the world as the most beautiful butterfly the world had ever laid eyes on.

They would both carry out their lives knowing just how much lay ahead of them, knowing just how adored they were by someone on the other side of the world.

☼

“I’m coming home.” Shoyo was more than thrilled to be able to announce this again, and was more than thrilled to hear a sigh of relief on the other end of the line.

“For how long?” Tobio sounded hesitant, but Shoyo was bound to relieve his tension.

“Ever.” Shoyo bit his lip in anticipation, and silence weighed heavy on both ends of the line. The weight of the words settled on both of the men, carrying the promise of what was destined to come in the future- the near future.

“You’re staying?” Tobio asked. His voice was light, a barely audible huff of breath.

“I’m staying,” Shoyo confirmed, smiling wide and bright at the mere thought. He would miss Brazil with every bone of his body. The friends he made, the memories he would forever cherish, the warmth of the sand crushing beneath his feet, the colors and sounds of the lively city. It would all be gone, a distant memory in his mind like the faint lines of erased pencil marks.

But he’d finally get to go home.

☼

If Shoyo could be anywhere in the world, he’d want to be in an airport. There was something inexplicable about the energy in an airport, about the way the people and places lived on in its halls. It was really incredible how regardless of the time, people wandered its halls in search of home, in search of escape, in search of adventure. They carried with them only their dearest belongings, only what they found the most value in. There was something so human about packing your belongings and heading out into the world. An airport really captured the essence of the human spirit.

It didn’t matter where someone was going, but they all had a place to be. Each person had their own specific purpose, their own reason for traveling. Shoyo watched as businessmen hustled through the terminals, their plain and limited carry-on bags jostled behind them. He watched as families perused the gift shops, eyeing souvenirs and snack carousels. He watched as young adults like himself sat alone, dressed in their most casual sweatpants and scrolling on their phones. Each and every one of those people had a place to go, and that in itself was awe-inspiring.

You could get on a plane in Rio and end up in Japan the next day. They were two completely random spots of the world, and yet, there would always be people joining you, in the seat beside you, in front of you, behind you, accompanying you on your journey. Maybe their reason for going to Japan was different than his. Maybe they weren’t returning home. Maybe they were going to explore a new part of the world, close a business deal, or attend a festival. It really didn’t matter what the reason was, but it brought the small conglomeration of people together for a short amount of time. People that would never see each other ever again were all headed to the same place for different reasons. 

Shoyo thought his reason was the best.

☼

Tobio could barely sleep with the way his heartbeat kept stuttering out of time. He felt like a child, or perhaps an overactive teenager yet again. Each time his mind conjured up the idea of seeing Shoyo again, his stomach did flips and his heart threatened to crush his ribcage. It was annoying and endearing all at the same time.

He missed all of the little things about Shoyo that he hadn’t gotten to experience in months. He missed the way his tongue poked out of his mouth when he was in deep concentration. He missed the way he nervously cracked his knuckles when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He missed the way he would bite his lip in excitement, as if he was physically holding back a shout of joy.

He missed a lot of things about Shoyo, all of the tiny little things that made him him. 

It was the well into the threshold of the night, and it was a beautiful night no less. It was the kind of crisp winter night that made everything feel frosty and clear. Tobio had thrown open the curtains an hour ago, deciding that sleep was beyond him and to stare out into the scenery that lay before him. The sky was clear and bright, the moon casting its glow upon the city. The lights from nearby buildings lit the skyline as far as he could see, and the occasional honking of taxis could still be heard despite the late hour.

His mind continually conjured the idea of Shoyo laying beside him, backlit by the chaos of the city. His fire orange hair would glow from the light of the moon, light and fluffy as it rested on the pillow. His eyes would sleepily flutter open and his lips would curl into an easy smile, one of the raw ones that Tobio loved so much. 

Tobio was completely gone, and completely at loss for sleeping that night.

With the light of the city illuminating his dark room, he deigned to watch frosting videos for the rest of the night. Shoyo wasn’t joking, the sugar cookie ones were truly fascinating.

☼

Tobio knows he is in public, and he knows he really shouldn’t allow himself to do this, but he can’t help it. He paces back and forth in a wide pattern, walking as if his nervous energy will expel through the bottoms of his feet instead of exponentializing. He doesn’t care if anyone is watching him at that moment, and he’s sure that many people are. He’s not hiding his anxiety well, and he can’t bring himself to try to mask it. He just doesn’t care.

The screen says that the plane is set to arrive in just five minutes. Five minutes, and Shoyo is going to exit those flimsy plane doors and brighten up the whole goddamn room. In five minutes, Tobio is probably going to melt into the floor, or maybe evaporate into thin air. He’s already tearing up and he feels like he could shit his pants. He better not shit his pants.

There is simply not enough time in the world, and too much time at all. The seconds feel like entire lifetimes, each heartbeat loud and clear. He knows his heart is beating rapidly, and yet, he can count each one with too much time in between the next. He wills time to speed up, yet he’s almost afraid for it to. Shoyo is only minutes away from him, mere seconds away from being with him again. There can be no other feeling in the world that compares to this in the world.

Because really, what are you supposed to do in this situation? When you have loved someone for so long, when your heart has been dedicated to a single cause for years, and your body aches to touch the embodiment of love itself, how are you supposed to cope? It feels like a drug, a substance so addictive and corrosive that the very essence of his heart seems to change with it’s touch. Tobio craves Shoyo’s touch, now more than ever. He can practically feel the faint phantom contact of Shoyo’s fingers trailing in his hair, lightly cupping his jaw. He can almost feel the gentle peppering of lips on his skin.

Almost like he can hear Shoyo calling out his name, as if he can feel the heat of the sun simmering on his skin.

“Tobio,” he hears, calling his name. The sweet, loving voice encapsulates him, wraps him in syrupy tendrils of comfort. It pulls him in and makes him feel safe, it makes him feel truly loved.

“Tobio,” he hears, calling his name. His heart skips a beat at the use of his given name, the one that only his Shoyo can call him. His name sounds like it was made to be said by Shoyo, as if it was the only true thing he’d ever heard in his life.

“Tobio,” he hears, calling his name. He feels the phantom fingers grip onto his shoulder, but the heat radiating from them is too real to be an illusion. 

Tobio turns around and nearly has to shut his eyes at the sight of the smile he is met with.

Shoyo removes his hand from his shoulder, leaving little distance between them, yet, all too much at the same time. Is he afraid to close the distance? Is he afraid to make that contact? He knows that if he breaks down this boundary, there will be no looking back

Tobio realizes he doesn’t want to look back.

Tobio scoops Shoyo into his arms without a thought in his mind, He sighs contentedly into the crook of Shoyo’s neck, breathing in the cinnamon and sunshine he craved so badly. Shoyo’s arms loop around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer, and Tobio wishes he could crawl into the other’s skin. There is no amount of closeness that could ever be enough, no matter how hard he will try.

“Marry me,” Shoyo whispers, the light breath softly hitting the shell of Tobio’s ear, but the weight of the words slamming his heart in his throat.

“W-”

“Marry me,” Shoyo repeats. “Marry me now and forever.”

“That’s not fair,” Tobio chokes. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a breath so deep that he is convinced his lungs will burst.

“Why not?” Shoyo asks, pulling slightly away from the depth of the embrace. Tobio doesn’t let him, pulling him back right where he belongs.

“You caught me off guard. I was supposed to say it first. I was gonna win.” Shoyo giggles in his ear and Tobio shivers.

“It’s okay. It really doesn’t matter who won,” Shoyo says, letting his hand ruffle through Tobio’s hair. Tobio peels himself away from Shoyo once he is sure he won’t break out in uncontrollable sobs.

“Of course it does,” Tobio retorts, “I wanted to be the one to say it.”

“Only one of us can, dumbass, that’s how it works!”

Tobio would beg to differ.

Tobio reaches into his pocket, the left one, where he knows the ring is bound to be. He feels the velvet of the box around his fingers and pulls it out. Shoyo just stands there, watching as he opens the lip of the box, revealing a simple, amber engraved wooden ring. It’s not much, and Tobio suddenly feels ashamed even offering it.

“If you get to say it first, then I get to do this first.” His fingers are shaking as he takes Shoyo’s hand into his own. He can’t tell if the wobbling of their hands is his fault, of Shoyo’s fault, or maybe their fault together. It doesn’t matter, nothing in the whole entire universe does as he slides the band onto Shoyo’s finger.

Tobio can’t decide if the world has just lifted from his shoulders or crushed down upon him. He stares at Shoyo with nothing but love in his eyes, and he isn’t really sure where he is in time. He can’t see anything except the radiant light coming from Shoyo, the soft smile that dons his face, the shimmer of adoration and tears in his eyes. He holds his decorated hand gingerly, as if it were made of glass, admiring the promise upon his finger. It is a promise of forever, a promise of a tomorrow and a yesterday, a promise of morning, afternoon, and night. 

“This is my favorite race we’ve had yet,” Shoyo jokes, choking on a wet laugh that may as well be a sob. He looks from the ring into Tobio’s eyes with so much emotion that Tobio fears he will drown.

“Why’s that?” Tobio teases back, taking Shoyo’s bags from the ground and carrying them like the last true gentleman that he is. 

Before Tobio can turn around, Shoyo breaks out into the widest smile he’d ever seen in his life, his eyes alight with a mischievous glint, and says, “we both win.”

And Tobio decides that he’s right.


End file.
